Half Circle
by Merellia
Summary: Three hundred fifty years after the well closed, sealing Kagome in her time, Inuyasha finds himself increasingly alone in a world where humans are more widespread than ever and youkai fading. One-shot.


Inuyasha glanced across the shrine grounds, uneasy. He couldn't even hear a mouse--there were _always_ mice around--yet he should still be able to hear anything larger and heavier; but the night-blanketed shrine grounds looked as empty as they sounded, washed barren in the moonlight. Likewise, the few odors he could scent were old, about as worn out and tired as he felt; at least there was nothing fresh.

One ear twisted stiffly inside the confines of his hat at the noise of a labored cough coming from the well house; that, however, he had been looking for. Footsteps slow as he tried to catch his breath after climbing up all the damn stairs, he made his way to the gabled building that must have been erected sometime this past quarter-century since his last visit and put a hand to the door, fingers curled into the palm as was his habit now. Inside, it was silent once more; but, closing his eyes and listening intently, there was still the sluggish, faint murmur of a heartbeat. He slid the door aside.

"You're looking seedy, dog boy."

His eyes adjusted more quickly with the door closed behind him, enough that he could see the figure propped against the well, the narrow chest rising with shallow breaths. "And you're a relic, old man. Why haven't the humans carted your wrinkled ass away by now?" Inuyasha slipped out of his geta so they wouldn't clump as he walked down the few steps--the second was too new, still, to creak as he remembered from the last time he'd been here with her--and knelt beside the withered figure watching him with cynical amusement.

"They think it's haunted. See?" The fingers of the hand lying in his lap twitched, and blue foxfire illuminated the shadows for a moment that ended in a sputtering cough. "Not totally useless yet," Shippou mumbled after regaining his breath.

"She's not going to come through. It's too early," Inuyasha said as he knelt beside the kitsune with a wince at the pressure that put on his knees.

Faded blue eyes watched him set his conical hat to one side, one corner of the wrinkled mouth twisting up as the mocking expression emerged again from the creases of the kitsune's sunken features. "Fuck you, Inuyasha. Haven't you said that often enough?" Shippou cleared his throat, swallowing weakly instead of spitting out the phlegm. When he had his breath back, he added, "But I'm tired."

"Got a foul mouth on you, old man," Inuyasha muttered as he slid the wicker basket from his back and untied its lid. Ignoring the rude suggestion resulting from that comment, he said, "I'm going to the city. I'll bring you back something." A day to get there from the village--he'd never bothered to learn its proper name: it was Kaede's village, Kikyou's shrine, Kagome's well--and a day to get back. Maybe two, if his body forced him to rest, as it did with dismaying frequency.

Faint interest flickered across Shippou's face. "Do they have those candy things she used to bring me? Lollipops."

Inuyasha hesitated, pulling out a small packet. It was the last one he had, foil printed with brightly colored characters, the remnant of a bygone aid kit. It had probably been useless for centuries, though the expiration date said it would be good for over a hundred years more. The incongruity had amused him, while the specific date provided encouragement, a lure. But he'd long since memorized the numbers; and the lure had worn thin with time. "Not yet."

The kitsune's face lost what little animation it had. "Whatever, then," he said indifferently.

Setting the packet aside, Inuyasha pulled out another; this one was unlabeled; he'd gathered the leaves himself, however, and his nose was good enough yet to identify them. He put it next to the kitsune, along with his own supply of water. The packet he shoved into one age-spotted hand. "This was hers," he muttered. "And have some of the other every day. No ghost has a cough."

Fingers closed slowly about the foil square with its tiny pebbles of medicine inside. "Asshole," Shippou said on the exhalation of a breath.

"It's good seeing you too," Inuyasha replied sourly, eyes shifting from the fading kitsune to the wood of the well. There was a splinter that, if Shippou moved a little to the side, would stick one of his pointed ears. Inuyasha decided not to mention it; maybe it would spur the kitsune to a little more life. "There aren't--I haven't seen any others for half a century, Shippou."

"Heh," Shippou said, his breath raspy as he tried to suppress a cough. "Maybe you'll be the last, then." He closed his eyes. "Who would've expected it . . . a hanyou. . . ." A sigh, longer than Inuyasha would have thought possible, made him wait with a stab of worry pricking him until the thin chest lifted again.

Drawing in a breath of his own, Inuyasha stood, ignoring the popping noises from his knees and the resulting twist of humor to the kitsune's mouth. "I'll be back in a couple days. I'll bring some better medicine."

Thin gray brows drew together. "Not sick," Shippou said with a laconic irritation. "I'm tired."

Inuyasha's eyes dropped to the wizened figure as he adjusted his hat once more over his ears. "I know," he said heavily, weary as well, feeling that weight of solitude and thinning hope which turned every year into another wrinkle, another weight stooping his shoulders and dulling his senses while other youkai had passed on, one by one. A twist settled the basket. "You'll wait?"

"Always trying to protect someone," Shippou said, his voice rasping in what passed for a laugh. "But you can't when it's from themselves."

"Fuck that," Inuyasha snapped, stirred to anger. "Wait."

"Maybe." Shippou twitched a finger. "Or maybe not. Using such language to your elders. Bet I know more than you now, though."

Inuyasha turned his back on the kitsune, shuffling carefully into the geta when he reached the top step. "Elder my ass. We can compare when I get back, runt."

Behind him, Shippou sighed his laugh once more, thin like the rustling of dry leaves. "I'll wait, dog breath. Maybe."

--

AN: Thanks to Saro for the late night conversations about youkai aging and reincarnation from which sprang the idea for this fic. It's just a late-night contemplation of what it might have been like for Inuyasha to have to wait for Kagome between the closing of the well in the Sengoku Jidai and her own time, in a world where hope or faith literally keeps one young. Reviews are most appreciated!


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